Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) Read Free Page A

branches.
The midday sun cast broken shadows through the trees,
cloaking Grace in a dim glow that would change only slightly
from the spark of dawn to the waning light at dusk.
    She supposed some might call it quaint; a typical image of
an average small town, winding through a grassy valley carved
out by Beaverhead River and its tributaries. The same old oak
tree still guarded the corner of Maple and Eighth, its thick
roots lifting the sidewalk and working their way into Mrs.
Hammerby’s yard. The town center still boasted its wooden
boardwalk stretching between cobblestone streets and painted
storefronts.
    The red brick church with the thatched roof loomed over
the treetops as it had for the last hundred years. It discerned
the town like an old aunt; both pleased and disappointed by
what Grace had become.
    Angela stopped at the town’s only red light and looked up
at the cross atop the steeple, rising over the trees toward a blue
sky. Her mother had made her go to church as a child, but the
hope they preached about didn’t change the fact that she was
always so afraid to go home. She broke bit by bit to remember
the things that had died in a small girl‘s heart. The light turned
green. She fixed her gaze back on the road and put her foot on
the gas.
    Turning into the driveway of what had been her father’s
office, Angela reminded herself that this trip was all business.
There were no personal effects of her father’s to sort through
– her brother had taken care of that detail when he had been
in town for the funeral – and there were no friends to see, no
family of which to pay the obligatory visit.
    She intended to immediately begin the process of assessing
the arena’s operations. The attorney had informed her over the
phone that her father had maintained only half of the stock
shares. That would make things easier; she had only to find
someone to purchase her father’s shares and she would not
have to get involved in the messy details of operations.
    Angela shut the car door, settled her briefcase strap over
her shoulder and walked up the numerous steps to the wrap
around porch of the aged Victorian house, which had been
converted into office spaces.
    She cringed at her reflection in the glass door. The tenhour trip, including a long layover in Chicago and a two-hour
drive from Missoula, was
dreadfully
apparent.
Her gray
pantsuit was a mess, the delicate linen fibers crunched and
wrinkled. Her long red-blond hair fell past her shoulders in
unruly waves.
    Propriety and logic nagged at her. It might have been best
to check into her hotel and regain some equilibrium before
tackling the matter at hand, but impatience and anxiety had her
ignoring that logic and walking into her father’s office.
    She wanted to get this part of it over with.
A teenage girl sat behind the lone desk in what might be
considered the lobby, with its trio of folding chairs and an old
serving tray with remnants of that morning’s coffee.
“Excuse me.”
Startled, the girl looked up from a book and brought
herself out of whatever fictional world had captivated her. Her
brown hair settled at her shoulders, tufts of blue and burgundy
peeking strategically through the strands. The girl studied
Angela from beneath heavy lashes; her mouth curved into a
smile, the upper lip slightly larger than the lower.
Angela took a step forward. “Hello, my name is Angela
Donnelly.”
“I’m Tina.” The girl set down her book and folded her
hands over it. “They told us you’d probably be coming, but
when you didn’t show for the funeral, we weren’t so sure.”
“Yes, well the arena has been left to my care,” Angela said,
“and I’d like to speak with the manager.”
“He’s not here.” Tina leaned back in her chair. “You’re
from New York, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time,” Angela said.
“If you could give your employer a message…”
“If you want, I can just tell you where he